In the Ice
by Robert M
Summary: Natasha hears something in the middle of the night, and she learns a heartbreaking fact about her fearless leader. Yeah, the summary is really bad, but you might like the story! - Decided to make it multi-chapter! Possible Steve/Natasha in the future depending on where the story leads.
1. Chapter 1

**I own nothing. Please read and review!**

Natasha Romanoff was not a heavy sleeper; her training as a world-class assassin had made sure of that. The enemy never stopped to take a nap, she was always told; even during sleep, she had to remain alert. Focused. Deadly. So when she heard heavy footsteps emanating from the floor above her, she awoke with a jolt, sitting bolt upright with her pistol in her hands, safety off and hammer pulled back. She surveyed the room, its shadows creeping into her consciousness as her eyes found nothing.

With the flick of a switch, the lights were on, and she was temporarily blinded. She whispered a curse in Russian about Tony's lighting system in the tower while she adjusted to the brightness of the fluorescent bulbs. With a quick glance, she realized that she was alone, and the noise that had woke her up was not in her quarters. Lowering her gun, she slipped out of her bed and quickly shimmied into a pair of grey sweatpants that lay folded next to her bed, and Natasha hustled out the door after checking her clock. 3:37.

Her gun raised, she quickly considered the fact that this was Avengers Tower, and she was no longer living alone in her flat across the city. Could it be Bruce? Tony? Maybe Thor had returned from Asgard? Surely, Clint would have been more stealthy, and Steve's sleeping schedule was nothing if not consistent - lights out at 11 until he woke up at 6 for his morning run through the city. She tossed this notion aside, remembering the last time she assumed a strange noise to be someone else, her flat had been turned into what looked like a war zone; bodies littered the floor, plaster and drywall dust strewn about, and her favorite gun - a Glock - had been covered in blood after she pistol-whipped one of her assailants into submission. She may have come out unscathed, but she couldn't say the same place about her flat. No, she would not make that mistake again. It was better to be overly-cautious than it was to be dead.

She crept to the stairs, knowing that the elevator was a death sentence if she was, in fact, confronted by an enemy. A steel cage with only one exit? That was a recipe for disaster; she knew from experience. Many men had met their demise in an elevator at her hands, and she did not particularly want to relive their last moments.

When she found her way at the top of the stairs, she pressed her ear to the door. Silence. With a quick turn of the knob, Natasha was out of the stairwell without making a sound. She was met with utter darkness yet again, the floor - the lounge - being devoid of any illumination save for that of the moon. Her eyes scanned the room until she caught a head full of blonde, the moonlight reflecting off of his neatly-combed hair. Steve. She holstered her weapon before slowly approaching his chair. Although Natasha was nearly silent, Steve seemed to be aware of her presence. _Must be his enhanced hearing, _she thought to herself, quickly pushing aside the momentary thought that she was losing her touch.

"Steve?" Natasha whispered, nearing his spot on the leather chair. He didn't respond, nor did he move. She tried again, "Steve," this time a bit louder. Still, nothing. As he came into full view, Natasha could tell something was off. His skin was ghostly pale, his lips were pursed into a thin line, and there was a thin shine of sweat coming from his bare forehead. The arms of the chair had been crushed, she noted, the metal awkwardly twisted into the shape of the inside of a closed fist. It was only then that Natasha noticed that Steve had not removed his gaze from the window. Although the moonlight was faint, it was obvious what Steve had glued his eyes to. Snow. Thick, white balls of it were coming down in heaps. Natasha understood.

"Steve, look at me," she commanded in a harsh tone. Ever the good little soldier, he turned his attention toward the fiery redhead. "Listen to me. What happened in the ice is over. You're here. With me. We're not going to let that happen again, do you understand me?" She realized she may have been to stern, but what Steve needed was guidance now; she knew that.

Steve nodded slowly before drifting his gaze back to the window. "I know," he sighed, barely audible over the deafening silence of the tower. "I just need time."

Natasha took that as a plus, and she cracked a smile for him. It wasn't for her, no, that would be preposterous. She didn't have any emotions; they were for children. What Steve needed now was reassurance, and she was the only one there. "Captain, why don't you head back to bed," she offered, "even the man who slept for seventy years might needs some shut-eye eventually," hoping to bring a little bit of positivity to the situation.

Steve groaned in response, and something crossed his face - a look of pain, regret, and was that terror? It was gone so fast that if Natasha had blinked, she would have missed it, and Steve immediately realized his mistake. He tore his gaze away from her, refusing to make eye contact.

"Steve." He knew that tone of voice. His flesh was burning under her icy stare. Steve tried to stand when Natasha pushed him back down in his seat, refusing his leave.

"Please let go, ma'am."

"Tell me." With those words, he understood that he was not leaving without an explanation, and he sighed deeply before mumbling an incoherent sentence that left Natasha with a confused look on her face. "Captain, tell me."

"I was awake," Steve responded, his voice filled with fear and anger at the same time. They caught eyes, and Natasha could instantly tell that he regretted the poison that his voice contained. "I was awake," he repeated, quieter this time. Innocent. And then he was gone, already in the elevator.

It clicked inside Natasha's head. He was awake. _He was awake in the ice._ The whole time, he was awake. S.H.I.E.L.D. had assumed he had slipped into unconsciousness when the ice consumed his body, but he was conscious for seventy years. Natasha's mind went haywire with the thoughts of what went through his head for seventy years. What first crossed her mind was the thought that Steve knew that everyone he ever loved was dying while he was in the ice, and there was nothing he could do. He was helpless. He knew that Peggy was alive, but as each and every day passed, she came closer and closer to death, and there was nothing he could do. He had seventy years to blame himself for Bucky's death, running the event through his mind over and over like a broken record. The last thought that came through her mind was that Steve was alone. Alone for seventy years - conscious. And there was nothing she could do. For the first time in years, Natasha Romanoff sat down and cried.

**That's it! I might continue this if I get a positive response, but for right now, it's just a one-shot. Sorry I'm not very good with the whole feels thing. So yeah, please review; it might lead to more chapters! Have a good day!**


	2. Chapter 2

**So, I made the decision that I think I'm going to keep writing. How often I'll be updating, I don't know, but here's another short chapter for you guys to read. It's just fluff before the actual meat kicks in, so don't hate me for it!**

**Mystic Fantasy: Thank you so much!**

**TiffOdair: Why thank you!**

**AlicinhaMB99: Thank you! I'm going to go chapter at a time since I'm extremely busy, but I think I might continue!**

**Avamys: I thought it would be interesting and wondered why nobody had written about it to my knowledge, so I figured "why not?" But yes, probably to the second part, but I'll have to see where it takes me.**

**ym4yum1: Thank you for your review! I know it's really cruel, and he should be totally insane, but I feel like it's something I could write about where Natasha picks up his pieces, so to speak. I have an explanation to the second part, actually, but you'll have to wait and see what it is. :P For now, I'm kind of just relying on suspension of disbelief, but good catch with the biological needs of his body!**

**dragonborn360: Thank you! It means a lot to me that you guys are so supportive!**

And there was nothing she could do. For the first time in years, Natasha Romanoff sat down and cried.

It was exactly the way Natasha fell asleep that Tony Stark - of all people - found her. Her body was slumped on the supple leather chair, curled up into a ball of dark ginger hair, a white tank top, and a loose-fitting pair of sweatpants. He slowly and gently approached her form, curious as to how she wound up in the most vulnerable position he had ever seen her in. Standing beside her for a moment, Tony was stumped. Should he wake her, or should he let her sleep? Being Tony Stark, he chose the third option. Quickly checking the room, he pulled out his phone, kneeled down next to her, and stuck his tongue out, the phone's camera pointed at the pair of Avengers like the barrel of a gun.

"Do it and die, Stark."

Tony leapt up from his place on the carpet in pure panic, only to realize that the Widow was already out of the chair, arms folded across her chest with a stare that could - and probably has - killed.

"Good morning, to you too, sunshine," he grumbled, trying to hide his mini-heart attack. He chanced a look into her eyes, and he immediately regretted it. Somehow, Natasha was able to convey her exact thoughts through a simple facial expression, and this one was her _I can kill you a thousand ways with a tissue_ look. Great. He had managed to piss off a master assassin before noon. _Not the first time,_ he noted to himself. "What's with the sweats? Cat suit a little too stuffy for you this morning?"

Natasha glared at him.

"Hey, have any of you guys seen my sidear-" Clint barged into the lounge, clearly frustrated. He stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of his two teammates in what seemed to be a one-sided battle to the death. "Umm... maybe I should go. To the kitchen. Yeah, I'm going to the kitchen. For breakfast. Do you guys want breakfast? You probably don't want breakfast. I'll just... go," he stumbled over his words, knowing it was best not to interrupt Natasha during these types of situations. Or ever. She was the most dangerous woman he knew.

"No need for that. I have business I need to attend to," Natasha replied to Clint. "Remember, I can end you," Natasha hissed to Tony as she crept away, just loud enough for Clint to hear. In a flash, she was gone, leaving Tony and Clint staring at each other in a confused daze.

Somehow, Natasha found herself at Steve's door. She didn't intend to, though, honestly. Her legs just carried her there, and before she knew it, she stood just outside the super soldier's bedroom, carefully evaluating her options. Open the door? Go back to her room? Knock? Unfortunately, she didn't have the chance to choose before the door opened, and Steve collided with her body. She was about to tumble to the ground when Steve took a firm grasp on her shoulders, effectively steadying her. She was standing inches from Steve, his steady breath warming the top of her head; she only made it up to Steve's shoulder.

"Agent Romanoff?" Steve asked quizzically. He stepped back quickly, realizing how close he was to her, and the slight tinge of pink that reached his cheeks did not go unnoticed by Natasha. He raised his left hand to his head, carrying a pale blue towel with it, and he wiped his hair, which was dripping with water from his most recent shower. "I'm so sorry, ma'am. Are you okay?" Natasha just gave him a look of reassurance, letting him know she was fine, before speaking.

"Captain." She was short with him, not quite knowing what she was going to say. She hadn't even intended on coming to Steve's room, let alone having some sort of speech prepared. "Listen, I think we need to discuss the contents of last night's encounter," Natasha blurted out, never one to be subtle. A frown crossed over Steve's face, but Natasha could also spot something that resembled relief. He had been carrying this on his chest for a while, so she would not have been surprised if he wanted to take some of the weight off.

Steve sighed a little, knowing he was defeated; he always caved for women - not that he didn't want to upset them, but he had no idea how to talk to dames even to do the simplest task of refusing their wishes. He silently thanked himself that the dames had never thrown themselves at him back in the forties. There was that blonde-haired woman, but that was different. He loved Peggy, but she was gone. She gave him the strength to refuse that blonde woman's... offerings. When he was first defrosted - as Tony called it - he immediately inquired about Peggy, fearing the worst. He found that she was alive, and Bruce mentioned something about a nursing home, but that wasn't his Peggy. That was someone else's Peggy. Maybe he should call her anyway. This world was so lonely without her. Or Bucky. Or Howard. Truthfully, Steve was still alone. Ever since he made the decision to bring the nose of the plane down, he was alone.

So when Natasha Romanoff arrived at his door and offered to listen, he figured maybe, just maybe, he wasn't alone anymore.

**Okay, so there's chapter 2. Let me know what you guys think! Am I moving too fast? Too slow? You want to see the other Avengers' reactions to Steve's secret sooner or later? I want to tailor this story to you guys while still keeping my general plot, so just let me know! Also, do you guys think I should find a beta reader? I'm always bad at finding my own mistakes, so I'm kind of on the fence about it. Anyway, again, have a wonderful day!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Yeah, I just got done with college for the semester, so I had exams and whatnot. Anyway, here's the next chapter. Sorry it's so incredibly short; I honestly had no idea where I was going with this story or how long it's supposed to be, so I figured I would just post this transitional scene just to tide you over. Thanks to all you guys who reviewed; you're amazing, and I am extremely grateful!**

They sat in silence, Steve twiddling his thumbs as he tried to string together a coherent sentence. _Where do I even start? _He wondered. _I mean, she doesn't really want to know; she only came here because - oh God, she's in my room. With me. Alone. _Natasha could see the perspiration quickly gathering on his forehead as Steve's complexion grew increasingly pale.

"So, uh..." Steve gulped. "This is my room," he stumbled over his words as he waved his hand around the plain, sparsely-lit bedroom. Natasha almost rolled her eyes at him - almost. She noticed that his eyes did their best to avoid contact with hers, as if their gazes meeting would cause destruction. Suddenly, his stare became fixed on one corner of the room and stayed there. She followed his line of sight directly to his laundry bin where his navy boxers lay on top.

"Steve, I've seen you naked. You don't need to be worried about underwear," she said with a subtle sigh. Steve's eyes snapped to her in a panic. He tried to put on his best poker face and play it off as though it was nothing, but inside he was absolutely dying.

"Excuse me?!" he squealed, taken aback by the sudden realization of her first sentence. "That's... that's not... no, you can't... how? I mean, I was just looking at my sketches."

"You want to tell me why I'm here," she paused, remembering not to use his formal title, "Steve?" He still seemed stifled and uncomfortable, but she noticed the slight relaxation of his shoulders, indicating that she should proceed. "What you told me last night, was that true?"

Steve looked into Natasha - not at her - and she knew. "That I was awake when the plane hit the water?" Nathasha shook her head and gave him a stern look not unlike that of a mother mixed with one of confusion; he never said he was conscious when he crashed. "Oh, that. That's nothing." They didn't need to know. They didn't care. He was just Steve on the inside - the sickly boy that nobody cared about. Tony was right; the only thing special about him came out of a bottle. Why would someone like Natasha even think twice about him? No, she was just being courteous.

"Why didn't you tell anyone? We're a team. We're supposed to know these sorts of things," she said bitterly. In the back of her mind, she was more concerned about how the file S.H.I.E.L.D. had provided her had some fairly important inaccuracies about the super soldier's time as a Capsicle, but she would never say that. Natasha Romanoff may be cold, but she's not a bitch - for the most part, at least.

"It's not important. It's not like I can't perform my dutie-" Steve started, but a sharp alarm and flashing red light stopped him in his tracks.

"AVENGERS ASSEMBLE," Jarvis stated in an authoritarian tone. Natasha scoffed at the phrase, and Steve just rolled his eyes; they both thought it was a tad bit corny.

"Looks like this conversation is going to have to wait," Steve expressed, clearly feeling a weight lifted off of his shoulders. While he had initially been willing to share the burden of his emotions with Natasha, the moment of truth had turned him off from his desire to open up to her. This mission would give him time to clear his head - evaluate the options on how to handle the situation.


End file.
